Page 69 of Grim Tidings

“I don’t have a crush.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. “Okay. Fine. How does it impact your relationship?”

“There isn’t a rel—”

“For fuck’s sake, Gabe. Never mind! I give up!” He tosses me his empty bowl, then reaches over the counter and grabs one of the beers I have stocked to the side. “You don’t deserve my advice.”

“I’m sorry. When were we going to reach the advice portion of the conversation?”

He gives me a scathing look. “I’m done with you. I’m going to go charm a beautiful woman who will appreciate my conversation.”

I snort. “Unlikely.”

His eyes dart over my shoulder, and a smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Or maybe I’ll go charm your beautiful woman.”

I turn so fast my neck cricks.

Darcy is sliding onto her usual stool, her black wool jacket folded neatly over her lap. Heartburn that feels a lot like subdued rage fizzles and pops, climbing up the back of my throat. I’m halfway around the end of the bar before I realize it, shoving Nate out of the way so hard, he knocks over a stool.

“Hey!” he shouts, laughing, but I’m focused on Darcy.

Darcy, who isn’t mine.

Darcy, who has ignored me for the better part of a week.

Darcy, who is sitting on her stool in my bar without a care in the world.

Darcy, who is studying a menu even though she never uses it.

As soon as I’m close enough, I reach over her shoulder and grab it. “I thought I told you that you don’t need that.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Why aren’t you behind the bar?”

“Why are you here?”

“At your … bar?” Her eyes dart around the room, and she pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her knuckles. She’s not wearing black today but a muted green instead. It makes her skin glow. “I wanted a drink. I thought I’d try—”

“Where the hell have you been all week?”

That roiling feeling in my chest gets worse. Waves, crashing over one another.

“I’ve been here.” She says it like a question, like she’s not sure how to answer in the face of all my banked fury. I don’t blame her. I don’t know what to do with this mess either.

Nate thinks I have a crush, but it’s not that. Crushes don’t feel like this. Like I can’t look directly at her without being mad about it. Like I don’t want to look anywhere else either. Like there’s a live wire shoved beneath my rib cage, lighting everything up. Like I want to kiss her stupid and shake her senseless in the same damn breath.

It’s not a crush. It’s a goddamned fixation. It’s damnation with long legs and thick eyelashes and skin that tastes like salt and tequila and bad fucking choices.

“I haven’t seen you.” And God knows, I’ve been looking.

She turns to face me fully, the outside of her knee pressed up against my thigh. She searches my expression and something in hers clears. “Gabriel,” she says slowly. “Did you miss me?”

Fuck me, I think I did.

“No,” I answer instead. Yes. “Listen, if I made you uncomfortable the other night—”

“You didn’t.”

“If I took it too far—”